"Sounds like I wasn't missing much," he says, because the thought of her and Tad needs to go down the memory hole, and the idea of Scully sitting miserably through a date in the mid-90s is strangely funny. All dolled up and listening to some jerk prattle on about his stock options over appetizers, or going to a terrible movie just to discover she'd spent the evening sitting next to someone who loved it.

He kind of remembers the turn onto this street last night, though it looks a little more inviting during the day. It's hard not to imagine Scully coming out with a real estate agent, looking at all the identical condos with their mostly-private entries and thinking - well, he doesn't know about that part. Was it this looks perfect or I know I'm supposed to want this? A place she could finally be herself, or just somewhere where he wasn't being him?

Whatever the impetus, hers is no longer the modern, just-like-all-the-rest abode of twenty-four hours ago. He can already see the damage as they pull up: broken glass, mostly, and a lot of it. It's not clear whether 911 ever got called, though he suspects the answer is no, the AI didn't feel like it. "I can put in a call to emergency services while you pack, if you want."